


Insinuation

by zycroft



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zycroft/pseuds/zycroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot barges into Olivia's fantasy just as she's trying out a new toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insinuation

Goddamned Stabler! It was like he could sense what she was doing and had to make it all about him. Well, that might be giving him more credit than he deserved, but still. Still!

They’re off tonight. Finn’s catching and he’ll call in Munch if he needs to. There’s no reason for fucking Stabler to just call her up like this, not right now. If he wants to prepare for his testimony that he has to give in 6 days, then he should call…he should call…whoever the hell their ADA is this week. Unless they’re between ADAs again.

Oh. That could be why he called.

But still! She doesn’t get much time off, neither of them do. And it isn’t like they ever get time off when they don’t have to juggle several cases so they’re too distracted by work to enjoy the few precious hours away from it all.

Olivia sighed as her anger ran its course and turned her attention back to her Kindle. She’d lost her place on the page, but that hardly mattered with these kinds of books; they weren’t exactly heavy on plot. Or originality. Their sole purpose was to excite and this one had been doing a pretty good job until Stabler called.

She so rarely had the chance to read anything, but erotica was an especially rare treat. There’s really only one reason to read it, but her libido just wasn’t what it used to be. If she thought about it, it was probably a combination of the job, the hours, the lack of any kind of life outside the office, and the prolonged lack of intimacy these last couple years. Even now, with a brand new toy resting on the bed beside her and a new story full of arousing words and imagery, she wasn’t really in the mood.

It had taken her an hour to get to the point where she was reaching for the new vibrator, and she’d barely had a moment to glance at the buttons and think about how much vibrators had changed since she’d gotten her first one before Stabler called. Fucking Stabler.

His usually welcome presence was maddening at a time like this. Her body feeling that low thrum that could build into so much more or just fade away was caught in the crossfire between her book and the distracting thoughts about Stabler. Even now he was insinuating himself where he shouldn’t be and it was disturbing how hot the thought of him going down on a faceless woman was. It was a mental image that set off alarms in the back of her brain even as it set off a flood of arousal.

She fought herself every step of the way, but once he was in, he wouldn’t go away. Her body wouldn’t back down, either, and she’d never be able to use this vibrator again without thinking of that brief flash she’d had of what it would be like for him to enter her as slowly and teasingly as her makeshift Elliot had.

The buttons were simple but new and she fumbled a bit, too accustomed to the old twist base and when she finally got the thing going, her body seized up in shock and pleasure for a few seconds. She kept pressing buttons and cycled through all the functions, marveling all the time at how technology had finally advanced that most basic and common of sex toys that dated back to ancient times. It pulsed inside her, first a dull pulse and then building up to an unbearable pressure that made her want to scream, tear at her hair, come, run away, do anything to make it stop. And then it suddenly dropped back down to a dull pulse that made her hunger for that unbearable pressure all over again. She wondered what Elliot would think if he knew what she was doing, if he could see her. Would she turn him on? Would he get hard and breathe heavily as he fought his Catholic hand from wandering to rub at the tell-tale bulge there? Would he give in? Would he sink to his knees at her bedside and use those powerful hands capable of the most extreme violence and tenderness to fuck the vibrator in and out of her like she was doing now? What would his voice sound like when he was aroused? She imagined the low growl of his anger would be the same growl of lust and she wanted to feel the vibration of his groans pressed against her chest as she felt him enter her, torturously slow, mimicking the action with the shaft between her legs.

She arched up into him, was mildly surprised he wasn’t there, and then did it again anyway because it just felt good. It was wrong, and she’d hate herself the moment her orgasm finally took her, but it just felt so damn good to imagine him there. More realistic with the vibrator turned off, too, just fucking in and out of her and feeling more realistic than any substitute she’d ever had before. The soft silicone was pliable, bent to her body the way he would as he slid in and out of her.

Olivia could clearly see the look on his face in her mind’s eye, his lids half lowered and eyes gone so dark it was hard to remember they were blue, a bright flush painting his chest, neck, and face, making his eyes shine fever-bright as he steadily thrust in and out of her.

When Fantasy Elliot came, it was the image of his head thrown back, the taut cords of his neck standing out in sharp relief against the deep shadows hiding the rest of his body from her that sent her over the edge.

The self-loathing was sharp, an almost physical pain that couldn’t decide where to rest on her. She didn’t look at her vibrator as she withdrew it from between her legs, just tossed it under the covers towards the farthest corner of her bed where her feet surely wouldn’t brush against it while she slept.

Too tired for clean-up, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes as if they’d block out the residual imagery of proof that she ruined every good thing she ever had. She willed herself to fall asleep, for her mind to give in to her body’s insistence that stop trying to run, stop trying to tense and react and just relax and feel the afterglow already.

She slipped under a blanket of mental fog unknowingly and was glad that the self-loathing had dulled in her sleep. Now she just felt a residual tinge of filth when she looked in the mirror, but with luck she’d forget about it before she got to the station this morning.


End file.
